The Tea Set
by SCWLC
Summary: A series of character-specific, drabble-type ficlets. Sometimes, all you need to know the measure of a person's personality is the way they take their tea.
1. One Lump, or Two?

Title: One Lump or Two?  
Author: SCWLC  
Disclaimer: No money is being made from this, nor do I claim ownership of it.  
Rating: G  
Summary: What you can tell from how someone takes his tea.  
AN: So, there are three of us in the house, and we each have our tea differently. I can only assume that applies to these five as well. It's sort of five drabbles . . . ish. I'm a little leery myself about the Becker one, but I suppose it will do for an interpretation. The drabbles in each chapter here are divided according to the so-called "Teamfests" over on the Primeval Denial LiveJournal Community. That is, they were the featured Primeval characters during those months.

* * *

James Lester took his tea in perfected English fashion. In the manner deemed most correct by the British Standards Institute as described by the organisation itself, he would place his loose leaves into the pot, pouring his boiling water to within four to six millimetres of the brim. He would, as he waited on it to steep, place his milk into the teacup in advance, pouring one millilitre of milk to every 56 millilitres of tea. Precisely six minutes later he would collect his tea strainer, holding it over the cup, pouring it out with precision and allowing it to cool to drinking temperature.

Sometimes, when no one was looking, he'd slip in a bit of sugar then sneer at the very notion he would so adulterate his tea.

* * *

Philip Burton was everything urbane and sophisticated, and thus he was a chai man. At least, as long at the chai latte remained the 'in' thing, he'd drink it that way. When he was attempting to be more civilised than suave, he would have Darjeeling, because it offered both impeccable British pedigree and the hint of the exotic in the name.

Deep down inside though, he still sometimes wished for tea the way his mother had made, orange pekoe bags with lots of sugar and lemon.

* * *

Connor Temple had developed bad tea habits in uni. It drove Abby mad, but as he pointed out, he wasn't making her drink it. He'd often arrived nearly late for class, with only time to pour the hot water over the tea bag, no time to steep and sugar and milk to leaven in advance. It would sit there for the full hour and a half lecture, getting stronger over the course of it as he was unable to throw the bag away anywhere, and thus would over-sugar and put in cream, because he knew by the time he hit the dregs, it would have steeped for at least an hour if not more.

Now he just drank it with sugar and cream in copious amounts.

* * *

Matt Anderson had grown up in a time and place where tea was a concept and a relic that no one had anymore anyhow. It, along with everything else available in the early 21st century, was a marvel to him. He never confined himself to one kind or type, preferring to try anything and everything at least once.

He'd started with cheap bags, moved to earl grey, English breakfast, darjeeling and regular black tea bags. He'd tried herbals and fruits, mint and chamomile and orange and black currant. He'd discovered loose leaf and chai, custom teas and strange teas, rooibos and white teas.

If he had to pick a favourite, though, it was a proprietary mix of a loose tea he'd discovered in a small tea shop in a London side street. Earl grey nominally, it included lavender and rose petals for a floral scent that always reminded him of his father's garden.

* * *

Hilary Becker had a shameful secret. He'd never much liked tea. After far too many afternoons as a child being subjected to his mother's Society parties where she'd serve tiny cups of vaguely yellow hot water, he'd more or less sworn off the stuff, only drinking it to be polite. In most ways he was as English an Englishman as could be produced by the British Isles, but he'd never quite got the whole tea thing, even after he'd discovered it wasn't supposed to be lightly dyed water. Time in the armed forced had only increased his appreciation for the efficiency of coffee, that could be got ready fast, didn't need steeping when it was bought and often felt like it had a sharper caffeine rush than the other stuff.

Still, it wasn't improved by the addition of things, no matter what Connor claimed, so he always took it black when he had to accept a cup. Simple, straightforward, efficient. Connor and Abby pointed out there was nothing efficient about a double foam, two-flavour shot, mochaccino latte with two sugars and chocolate sprinkles (the next quip about his manhood and sprinkles was going to be shot by one of Matt's stupid not-gun tazers), but that was a completely different thing.


	2. It is a Gentleman

Title: It is a Gentleman  
Author: SCWLC  
Disclaimer: I wish I made money off this. Or that I owned it. Or both.  
Rating: G  
Summary: It's ubiquitous, but hardly uniform, preference.  
AN: Firstly, the title has been derived from a quotation, to be cited momentarily. I figured, having sort of seen the tail end of the one teamfest and now done a piece for another, that I would go back and do everyone's tea tastes, as in One Lump or Two?. And now the quote:

_Tea, although an Oriental,  
Is a gentleman at least;  
Cocoa is a cad and coward,  
Cocoa is a vulgar beast._

- Gilbert Keith Chesterton, 1874-1936

* * *

Caroline Steele was an utterly modern woman. She drank both tea and coffee, one sugar, one milk, orange pekoe and regular Columbian, and had no patience for people wittering on about the 'right' way to have either one. Then she met Connor Temple.

Although he defaulted to English Breakfast with too much cream and sugar, he could also make it in perfectly traditional style, loose leaf and proper teacups. For the first time she truly understood what people saw in taking the time to make it properly and matching honey or sugar, milk or cream, lemon or plain black, to the right sort of tea.

After they broke up and he refused to speak to her again, she found a little comfort in the stacks of tins filled with different teas and the little teapot with its own strainer he'd bought her as a gift.

* * *

Christine Johnson despised tea. It was everything that was wrong with people these days. A holdover to British Imperialism and an idiotic clinging to traditionalism that rankled with her. She'd use such things to her advantage, knew all the proper things to say and do, but she disliked nearly everything connected to the institution.

If only she liked coffee she could dispense with it utterly. Unfortunately, she didn't like coffee in the slightest, found it a vile drink at best, and on a cold morning there was nothing better than tea. She certainly was not going to be caught with her hot drink of choice by her subordinates.

A grown woman in a position of power simply could not be caught with a mug of hot chocolate on her desk of a morning.

* * *

Claudia Brown loved her tea. She loved the comforting colour of a large mug with cream in it, she loved how it warmed her up and tasted like a Sunday afternoon at her gran's. The regular bags you got at the local grocery store were exactly what she thought of when she thought of tea. Something you could plop into a mug on a cold day and curl up with a good book to read by.

When Nick vanished into the anomaly, she comforted herself by picturing them together when he got back. Curled up together on the love seat in her living room, matching steaming mugs on the table beside them.

* * *

Lorraine Wickes had never had any more profound feelings for tea than any other of her countrymen. She liked tea, it was the default drink for polite meetings at home and spending time with her mum, she'd drink it any old time when it was on offer unless it was truly too hot for anything hot to drink, but she'd never have called herself particularly tea mad.

James Lester broke her of that. The man was a martinet when it came to his tea. He wouldn't drink coffee most of the time, just demanding tea. And it had to be done correctly. _She_certainly couldn't tell if it had been bagged or not before, but somehow he could. The directions he gave were enough to drive you spare. Who measured millimetres to the brim of the pot and millilitres of milk to millilitres of tea?

After the mess with Leek, she simply couldn't even look at tea anymore without picturing James Lester's self-satisfied almost smile and the tea he'd demanded right after the gruesome show on the monitor.

* * *

Sarah Page had grown up in the UK, but often felt her true home was in the Middle East, in Egypt and Syria, the places she studied and had half lived in as much as she could. Tea for her wasn't the anemic milk and sugared stuff you got in the shops. Tea was the strong bitter stuff you drank from India directly. It was the green and jasmine tea from China and Japan.

Tea should be an adventure, like life, and she drank it that way. Soothing teas designed for those reaching a higher state of consciousness, teas designed to kick you in the teeth like an irate donkey in the Egyptian desert and just something that brought her back to humid jungles and biting sandstorms.

If she wanted comfort in a drink, she'd have cocoa.


	3. There is a Sublimity

Title: There is a Sublimity  
Author: SCWLC  
Disclaimer: I don't own anything herein, I'm making no money from it, and I'm pretty sure I shouldn't either.  
Rating: G  
Summary: We live and die by some choices, we stay awake for meetings for others.  
AN: I think I was reaching with Ryan. I have no handle on his character, really. This title, by the way, is a misquote, because lacking in tea-related titles I have gone for the family copy of Bartlett's for the last, this and the next one.

_This is the most magnificent movement of all! There is a dignity, a majesty, a sublimity, in this last effort of the patriots that I greatly admire. The people should never rise without doing something to be remembered - something notable and striking. This destruction of the tea is so bold, so daring, so firm, intrepid and inflexible, and it must have so important consequences, and so lasting, that I can't but consider it as an epoch in history!_

Diary [on the Boston Tea Party, Dec. 17, 1773] - John Adams

* * *

Daniel Quinn liked his tea and he liked it done right. He wasn't like the others at the station, happy to have some of those third rate cheap bags of orange pekoe from Tesco's. He always got the good stuff, trekking out to Harrods for his dose of good English Breakfast. He'd get up early, make it right, start his day with something strong and solid, sugar and no milk, because he did like a bit of sweet.

He could burn his stomach lining all day with that dreadful station coffee, he just drank it for the caffeine and so he wouldn't sleep through another interminable meeting about regulations he could care less about while he waited to get on with the job.

Funny, none of that changed when he started chasing dinosaurs for a living.

* * *

Patrick missed tea. It was something you couldn't get a million years in the past. He missed his mum putting in too much milk because she thought it might stunt his growth the way coffee was supposed to, thought the milk might defray that. He missed Danny giving him extra tea when he wasn't looking, because Danny may have sometimes been a bit of a berk, but he was still Patrick's awesome older brother who'd let him feel like he was adult enough to appreciate things like that.

Ethan didn't miss tea. Not for all the tea in the world would he give up the rush and the high he got, starting his morning by tracking down and seeing another creature's life spill away. He was up with the nonexistent lark for that, kept a lid on it because he knew it would bother Charlotte and the others, but with the excuse of chasing down breakfast he could get that rush and high that was better than the morning cups of tea he'd been finally allowed when he turned fourteen.

The first thing he'd done, once the shock of Charlotte's death and Emily's abandonment had worn off, was take a man's wallet and get cup of tea from an impersonal Starbucks, to nurse quietly in the park.

* * *

Oliver Leek drank tea, as he did everything else, to a purpose. He'd carefully checked what most people had, then settled on having Earl Grey because it meant he had something specific he could ask for, that made him sound like he had definite opinions, and was easy enough to get in stores. He was careful to always use only good tea bags, always use boiled water from a kettle, an electric one, not an old-fashioned stovetop hunk of metal. He had it with milk and no sugar, milk added after even though you were supposed to put it in first, because he could reference the Queen when he did it the other way. He felt all this gave an added depth to his character as he discussed things with other people in a friendly way.

When it became clear at the ARC that no one cared in the slightest, he gave up on that, because he didn't want to impress them anymore, he wanted them to understand just how much better he was and make them all beg. At least not caring meant he could microwave the inexpensive tea bags again. He'd missed not having to fuss about with boiling water.

* * *

Nicholas Cutter was a traditionalist everywhere in life except his evolutionary theory. He liked it that way. He liked taking out his tea bags, English Breakfast, Earl Grey, Darjeeling, it didn't really matter, whatever was on cheap that week to soothe his economical Scottish heart. He had a large teapot and a proper kettle that whistled when the water boiled. He made it right, scalding the tea pot and pouring the hot water over the bag right after. He'd leave it to steep for fifteen minutes, wanting it strong enough to stand a spoon upright in, a dollop of whole milk and a spoon of sugar.

He had a silly mug at the university and a newfangled ridiculous electric kettle for making it in his office, but there was something off-putting about the sharp click of the thing turning off when the water boiled that he just didn't like.

Stephen twitted him about it, but given that Stephen was the precise reverse, traditional views in biological theory and demanding melodrama in his food, Nick chose to ignore him.

* * *

Stephen Hart had grown up in a highly conventional household, and sometimes suspected of himself that he was still acting out in defiance of it. He loved tea, as much as Nick did, certainly. But where Nick insisted on everything being traditional, Stephen simply found it unendurably dull. Hidden in his blank white cupboards were dozens of different teas for every mood he might have.

When he wanted something to wake up, a spicy Chai, peppercorns and nutmeg in a mug, black and strong. For when he had take away there were a few different types and kinds of green teas and jasmine teas, a black Indian tea and Ceylon. Herbals for late nights when he wanted something hot to drink that wouldn't keep him up and others he'd got just because he wanted to try something new.

He bought the American iced tea for the next time Nick came over for a football match, wanting to see his face. After being fired from the ARC, he discovered Helen had drunk it all.

* * *

Tom Ryan liked black Lapsang Souchong tea. He'd liked it ever since he was a lad and had thought it just sounded cool. Lapsang Souchong. Someplace far away, where the whole world and people were different. Not like the same ones he saw every day on the same street in the same school over and over and over. He liked that he could have a bit of exotic in his life and still have control over it. He branched out over time into other sorts of teas, but there was a sentimental preference for Lapsang Souchong. Always black, of course. What was the point in having all those different things if you couldn't taste it for the milk and sugar?

It was why he joined the military. All the excitement he could want, but wrapped up in something organised and disciplined. It was a little like tea that way. You could have any sort you wanted, but the bag, the boiling water, the steeping, all that was the same. It balanced nicely. Pragmatism and adventure all at once.

Funny that it was the unpragmatic Connor Temple who'd remembered to give them some tea before heading into the second Permian anomaly, since they might be there long enough to want it.


	4. And is There Honey Still, for Tea?

Title: And is There Honey Still for Tea?  
Author: SCWLC  
Disclaimer: If I'm making money off this, I certainly don't know about it. I also don't own it either.  
Rating: G  
Summary: Personality is as much revealed in small things as great.  
AN: I have done some cross-referencing in these pieces to some of the other of these pieces. And this fic's quote is:

_Stands the church clock at ten to three?  
And is there honey still for tea?_  
[Heaven, 1913] - Rupert Brooke 1887-1915

* * *

Abby Maitland had developed healthy habits in university, which extended to her tea. Antioxidants, no caffeine, healthy, herbal and not a bit of that dark stuff that stained teeth and made you jittery with stimulants. She had it with a bit of honey to sweeten, and that was it. Connor complained about her healthy foods, suggesting it was unhealthy to eat so healthily, but she pointed out she wasn't making him drink it, and he could go back to his caffeine, sugar and fat thank you very much.

The shameful box of cheap black tea picked up at a local corner store was hidden behind the granola Connor would never eat, because sometimes you just needed to wake up of a morning.

* * *

Jenny Lewis liked her tea sharp, black, strong and well made. She purchased only the best tea bags for when she was in a hurry, and for lazy weekends when she had the time (which was less and less on the job at the ARC), she had loose leaf made up properly in a pot. That said, she could drink almost anything and put on a happy face about it. So, she drank weak tea, milky tea, sweet tea, cold tea, lukewarm tea (which was appallingly worse than the outright cold stuff) and silly exotic teas invented for people who clearly had far too much time on their hands.

It rankled a little that the only person other than her to ever make her a decent cup of tea had been Nick "You're Claudia" Cutter.

* * *

Helen Cutter had once liked her tea like Nick. Solid, dependable, pleasant in aroma and appearance and did the job all 'round. She'd never been a romantic, for all that Nick was, so when she'd found a tea that would suit, effective orange pekoe, she'd taken to it and not bothered trying to find something better when what she had worked to its purpose admirably. Then she met Stephen. Who introduced her to chai, spicy and hot, attractive and different, did all the things the other stuff did, but did it with panache and gave her a little shiver of pleasure just by leaning over for a sniff and a look.

The Permian, then the Cretaceous, the Eocene and then the Silurian, the Jurassic and everything in between all cured her of tea. Faced with Nick and Stephen all over again, she suddenly found herself craving nothing so much as Stephen's chai, steeped to weakness, with Nick's whole milk and a spoon of sugar. She never got it, either.

* * *

Emily Merchant discovered tea all over again when she joined the 21st century. She'd had tea, had known what it was, had considered it a vital part of her life all through adulthood. But the 21st century was a marvel of options. Oranges were so available as to be common and fruits of types she'd never so much as imagined, much less heard of were available in shops. Tea was a similar thing. She went from shop to shop, trying every different type of tea of every different brand, discovered the loose leaf teas and all the other strange teas from exotic locales like Africa and strange teas that were combinations she'd never had dreamed of

It was sometimes a bit much, though. And at those times, she'd get a teapot, strainer and India black leaves, and have a small, civilised cup of tea with Matt, who always seemed to understand as the scent of roses, lavender and bergamot wafted from his own cup.

* * *

Jessica Parker liked her tea simple. She didn't want it too strong, just a little sweet and milk to keep it from being bitter and distracting, something to clear the palate and fit with chocolate at the same time. It fit her lifestyle and what she did well, was simple for others to pick up for her when they went on a tea run to the kitchen. Still, since it helped her job to know everyone inside and out, she made sure to try Connor's thick tea that was more cream and sugar than tea, Lester's overly fussy tea and Abby's herbals. Matt and Emily seemed well-nigh schizophrenic in their teas, so Jess despaired of them.

She made sure, though, that every time Becker got her chocolate, she'd have his double foam, two-flavour shot, mochaccino latte with two sugars and chocolate sprinkles sitting beside her monitor. He'd sneak in drinks over the course of the next stretch, both of them pretending it was hers. Saving Becker's manly reputation was the least she could do after he'd braved the horrible beetles for her epipen.

* * *

April Leonard had developed dreadful habits concerning tea while at uni. She'd developed a bad habit of not remembering to take the bag out and letting the tea sit there, getting stronger over a lecture, and had had to put in cream and sugar to cut the strength in advance while it was still steeping. The first time she'd brought in a cup of tea, Connor had absentmindedly picked it up and had a sip.

The look on his face had been so delighted, she'd put off her initial plan to wean herself off it, instead making tea for them both like that. It was just another connection she could forge between them, severing his ties to the ARC and Abby while she was at it. April was, if nothing, pragmatic.


End file.
